


Ding dong the witch is.....quite hot actually....

by Spayne



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: AU, F/F, KE week day 4, Season 1, Yes you read that right, although really it’s more canon adjacent, eve is also a child stealing witch, there is room for interpretation as to what happens to the stolen children, v is into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-21 02:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne
Summary: AU in where Villanelle makes some ill advised Faustian pacts and ends up thirsting after the hot child stealing witch who comes to collect.Killing Eve Week Day 4
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 107
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2021





	Ding dong the witch is.....quite hot actually....

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently all I seem to do now is write from prompts served up by dear coolserietv - [ and this is no different.](https://twitter.com/spayne_fic/status/1365971295352066053)
> 
> So this fic comes from that tumblr prompt but also an errant thought of ..... what if I wrote a fic where Villanelle spends 90% of it in various silk dressing gowns? BUT ALSO... what if I wrote a fic with Eve in the 205 McQueen dress?
> 
> Enjoy.....or find it utterly silly and morally bankrupt.....whichever suits.
> 
> Oh, NB - I have stolen dialogue. A lot. And not always attributed it to the canon speaker. Thats deliberate and if you find one that isnt, well.....lets all pretend it is.

The first time it happens it's a man. He’s old and balding and wearing a stupid hat. He looks nothing like a witch, or is the correct designation wizard? Whatever. His beard game is shit.

“You’re saying—”, you struggle to talk around the pain, your hand presses harder to the gaping wound in your side. “—You’re saying you’ll fix this”, you move your hand briefly, watch the blood gush and then close your eyes as the world turns to water colour. “You’ll fix this and all I need to do is promise to give you my first born child?”

“That’s it.”

“Literally nothing else?”

“I mean its a child, so it's quite a big decision, you should really take some—”

“—fine. You can have them just— ow— just fix it.”

“You’re sure?” 

“God yes, just do it already, my first born child, whatever. Just—”

He sighs and without any fanfare it's done and the pain is gone, then with a crackle that you can almost feel on your skin the man is gone too. You move your hand, and the tear in the prison uniform is there, but the skin underneath is perfect once more. 

Huh. 

The thought that immediately crosses your mind is-- what other cool stuff could you trade for imaginary children?

\-----------------------------------

The second time the man appears is a year later. 

Your skin crackles, like static electricity and voice comes through the darkness of your cell in the charmingly named hole; “Any progress?”

“I’m in a women’s prison in case you hadn’t noticed. Not a lot of options here.”

He’s silent.

You laugh, “You didn't know that did you?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Can’t you just magic me out of here or something?”

“It doesn’t really work like that.”

“You could have my second born too?”

“Don’t-- you shouldn’t just offer to give your kids up like that.”

“Why?” 

He snorts but says nothing as you feel something vibrate in the air around you.

“Your cellmate, she’s got a way out. Stick with her and you’ll be ok.”

“That’s it?”

The air crackles and he is gone.

\-----------------------------------

He appears next in your apartment in Paris.

“I don’t know what to tell you Mr Wizard..”

He blinks at you. “Bill.”

“Sorry?”

“My name is Bill. Not Mr Wizard.”

“Oh. Ok. Well, sorry Bill. Nothing to report yet. It’s hard to get attention in Paris, you know? All these beautiful women around but— but maybe if Konstantin upped my allowance I could buy better clothes. I mean who’s going to look at me dressed like this?”

You’re wearing a 700€ Bernadette dressing gown. Whatever. Who’s to say what you could be wearing if you had more money.

He exhales loudly through his nose and looks pained.

“You could have my third born too?”

He doesn’t answer but you feel the air crackle and he’s gone.

There’s a knock at your door.

“Konstantin!!! What a wonderful surprise!!”

\-----------------------------------

The next time is in a club in Berlin.

He tries to say something over the music, he looks sweaty and anxious. Gross.

“Sorry, Bill. I can’t hear you.” You offer up a face of utter sincerity, or how you imagine that is supposed to look.

He opens his mouth to respond but the air seems to split apart around him and he’s gone.

\-----------------------------------

The next time it happens it isn’t Bill.

You are washing your hands in the bathroom on the 4th floor of St Mary’s in Paddington and when you look up in the mirror there is an asian women with amazing hair standing next to you. 

She looks at you, confused for a moment. Then turns back to the sink, pretending that she hadn’t just been caught staring, she gathers her hair up and away from her face. You can’t pull your eyes away.

When you keep looking, she turns to you, hands still wrapped in the curls. “Are you alright?”

You blink stupidly. “You aren’t Bill.”

She does something weird with her face. “You’re Oksana?”

“Villanelle.” You tell her

“Right.” She says it sceptically, almost patronisingly. 

How annoying.

“Anyway, Bill is— Bill won’t be collecting on your debt anymore. I’ve taken over so I wanted to introduce myself.”

“Ok.”

“So. Hi, I'm Eve.”

Eve. Pretty name.

“Hi Eve.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

She frowns a little at the silence but doesn't seem to know how to fill it. You glance at the clock and sigh regretfully.

“Listen, I would love to stay and trade more wishes but I’ve got an appointment to keep.”

She looks irritated, her pretty lips twist at the edges, perhaps she doesn’t like the way you casually dismiss her, it doesn’t matter really, you like the way annoyance looks on her. 

“But next time, yes?” 

When you are halfway out the door you turn back, unable to stop yourself, “Wear it down.” 

She touches her hair self consciously, you offer a half smile and slip out, letting the door close behind you.

\-----------------------------------

The next time she appears its at your flat in Paris a few days later.

You notice how her magic appearing-out-of-nowhere-skin-crackle feels different to Bills. His was a light ghosting across the skin, but hers is crisp and sharp. It's the bite to the air around her which holds your attention, that and her hair of course.

You looked up from where you were flicking through a magazine on your bed. “Hi Eve.”

“Hi.”

You gesture for her to sit on the bed beside you, she doesn’t move. So you shrug, “Ok. Would you like me to make you dinner. Do wizards eat dinner?”

“I’m not— I guess I’m a witch? But yes, I eat dinner.”

Oh. She’s new. How cute. You smile at her disarmingly. This is going to be even easier than Bill. You draw yourself off the bed and sweep into the kitchen, growing ever more pleased with yourself when you hear her ugly shoes pad along behind. A pity really. Truly there is no greater crime than a beautiful woman in ugly shoes.

“Sorry, no I meant, yes I eat dinner. But no, I shouldn’t— I won't have any.”

Disappointing. You’ve been stuck here since Konstantin grounded you for getting carried away in London and honestly it's getting boring now.

“Ok. So—?” You leave the sentence hanging.

She’s looking annoyed again, it takes every ounce of assassin self control to hide your grin.

“I’m here about the deal you made with Bill—”

“Great!”, You interrupt and move to sit at the bistro set next to the kitchen, “I have been thinking about that too.” You gesture for her to sit at the table with you and this time she does.

“You’ve— sold— three children now and you don’t seem to be anywhere close to— settling up on those— debts” She seems to struggle for the words and, oh wow, a (hot) morally conflicted child stealing witch, the fun you are going to have with this.

You let your eyes go glassy. You crumple in on yourself. “I need someone to help me.” It comes out choked, and so much more realistic than you could have hoped considering how funny this is. You’ll have a new flat in no time. “It's not that i'm not trying, Eve. I am! I know I’m not—” you gulp, the word lodges in your throat, “—normal. I—” you shake your head, and feel a tear slip down your cheek, maybe the new flat will have views of the Seine, “Or if it’s not me then maybe it's just— maybe people don’t like my apartment? Maybe they see my address and think that it's not where they would want the mother of their child to come from? People can be so— so shallow.”

She blinks at you, her face suddenly closed and giving nothing away.

“Bullshit.”

You blink.

“Bull shit.” She scoffs. “You’re an asshole.”

A laugh escapes as you drop character. As unexpected as this is, this game has suddenly got a lot more exciting. 

“You’re so pleased with yourself.” Your voice betrays how amused you are by this development.

“I know what you’re doing. You expect to trade children you don’t plan to have for magic. You did it with Bill. But I know what you are.”

You tilt your head, hungry for her words, her attention, all of it in a way that you didn’t expect.

“What’s that?”

She has an answer, you can feel it on the tip of her tongue but she refuses to give you the satisfaction and she shakes her head and stands to leave.

“Go on a date. Next time I find you I want to hear all about it.”

You slump back in your seat as you feel the crackle of her vanishing.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

  
  


\-----------------------------------

The next time, you don’t see her, you just feel the crackle.

“Who are you looking for?” Sebastian asks you.

You turn back to his open guileless face.

“I want to see your apartment.”

\-----------------------------------

Ok. So you might be trying your hardest to move into a better flat but you are big enough to admit that the bathroom in this one is ideal for disposing of a body. Poor old Sebastian is mostly in the bathtub now, you had to break for ten minutes while you searched for the spare battery for your electric saw otherwise you’d have been done much quicker.

You press the blade into the meat of a thigh and the now familiar crackle brings a grin to your face.

“What’s that—? Oh, Jesus!”

“Nope, just me, Eve.”

“What did you—? No forget it. I don’t want to know.”

“What? It wasn’t me! Well. It was, but I didn’t mean it.”

“Jesus.” She sits down hard on the edge of the tub, then immediately jumps to her feet when she realises.

“Oops?” You offer.

She looks furious and it does something weird to your chest. But not bad weird. Good weird. Huh.

“I mean it Villanelle, go on a real date and don’t—” she flaps her hand at the bathtub, “don’t kill anyone.”

“I told you, I didn’t—”

With a crackle she’s gone.

\-----------------------------------

Your fingers knit tighter into unruly curls and when you pull tightly from her scalp she makes a delicious whining sound in your ear and tightens on your fingers. She pants into the skin where your shoulder meets your neck and reaches up to palm at your tits, and when you close your eyes you can almost pretend it is her. So you keep them closed, and think about her smart mouth calling you out on that bullshit to get a new apartment, her indignant face and beautiful hair.

“God you’re so good at this.” She pants it into your ear, and the words are what you want but the voice is all wrong.

“Don’t talk.” 

It must come out sharper than you intended and she looks up at you confused and hurt. Urgh. This is really killing the mood. You put on your most reassuring face and use your free hand to gently reframe her hair around her face.

“It is better when I try to work out what you want from the way your body reacts, no?”

She kind of smiles, then nods but looks a little unconvinced. Urgh. Moving your thumb in slow circles around her clit, you grin conspiratorially, encouraging her until she begins to move against your hand again and buries her face back into your neck. 

You continue the motions, make the right sounds but the moment has gone. Your mind turns to what you might have for dinner. Take out. Obviously. That’s what you deserve, something greasy and indulgent after this disappointment. Thai maybe? That could work, that place on the other side of the river does the Massaman curry you like. 

You just need to get Pamela off and back to her overweight balding husband and then you’re free to eat all the take out you like. So you lean down to suck lightly at the skin on her neck, hooking your fingers inside her and that's when you feel it; the crackle on your skin and an answering thob between your legs.

You raise your gaze but keep your mouth on Pamela’s neck, and when your eyes meet Eve’s over Pamela’s shoulder you feel it everywhere. Her face is as inscrutable as ever but you watch her hand clench and her throat bob and— fuck— it almost looks like she feels it too. 

Your chin rests on Pamela’s shoulder and you bite your lip deliberately holding Eve’s gaze, she flushes and you feel— something. You watch as she breathes slightly quicker, her throat bobs again, and all the while listening to pretty gasps in your ear. You feel a familiar fluttering around your fingers and imagine it's her, all the time convincing yourself that she wants the same thing.

Eve’s throat bobs again, and as you pull your fingers away gently, the air crackles around you and she’s gone.

  
  


\-----------------------------------

  
  


The English countryside is nice. You’ve always thought so, you don't have much time for London, and only marginally more for Britain’s other major cities, but the countryside is nice. So you take the opportunity to sit down heavily on the grass and think about Eve. 

You’ve been doing that a lot lately. 

You thought the thing with Pamela would be a good way to get this infatuation out of your system. Trying to fuck the woman who holds the power of this strage faustian contract is probably not the best plan, so fucking a woman who looked kind of like her seemed like the most obvious solution. 

That was until you started to think about whether Eve might actually want you back.

That has to be what it is. Why would someone barge in on someone having sex and then stay and watch if they weren’t interested? And now there is this tiny sliver of a suggestion that maybe she feel’s this too, and you can’t stop thinking about it.

The man’s body lays in the grass nearby, and those of Nadia and her idiot boyfriend are somewhere back near the car, you spare them all less than a passing thought as you feel the familiar crackle around you. In all honesty you kind of want to see her reaction to all this death, and to you for causing it.

“God, you’re an asshole.” She sounds tired and flops down to sit next to you.

“Hi to you too, Eve.”

You pull up your knees and rest the side of your head on them as you look at her. She draws her knees up too and turns to face you, she doesn't even glance at the body.

“I don’t know what Bill told you about this but you can’t just not— pay.”

You say nothing in response so she continues.

“Do you know what my boss does when these— deals— aren’t collected on? The witch or wizard loses all their magic and everything they’ve done with it is undone.”

You frown at that. Huh. “So why am I still here?” 

She blinks in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Well that's what happened to Bill right? No baby to bring back to management, and zap he’s gone. So that should mean the magic which fixed up my side after that bitch Ulga stabbed me in prison, should be undone too, right? So, why am I not dead?”

She flushes again and you think about the way she looked in your apartment the last time you saw her.. You lean your head back down to your raised knees and wait for her answer.

“Because I agreed to take you on.”

Something warm blooms in your chest, and you feel a lazy smile pull at your mouth, and she looks mildly panicked to have revealed this.

“No, no. It wasn’t a big deal. I just, you know— looked through his cases and thought i'd picked a good one.”

“You only picked one?”

She pauses then grudgingly admits it with a small nod. “Just because you’re— you know— beautiful or whatever and I thought it would be an easy win and—”

She stops having seen the grin which must extend across your face now, and rolls her eyes; “Shut up.”

You laugh a little, watching as she reaches out to pick a daisy from the grass nearby and plucks the petals off one by one.

“But that was before I realised you were— you know—” She gestures vaguely with her hand and you stretch to lean back on your arms.

“A great conversationalist? Excellent at cooking?” You lean toward her and stage whisper with a playfully raised eyebrow, “Ambidextrous?” 

“Annoying.” 

You laugh.

“That and an assassin. Oh yeah, and now apparently not interested in men so I guess that means I'm losing my magic and you’re going to die.” 

You shrug lazily, “Men are fine. They’ll do in a pinch. And there’s plenty of ways to have a child with a woman these days, there’s no need to be homophobic Eve”

She looks incredulous again, “What? How am I homophobic? Im bi!”

You have try to bite the inside of your mouth to hide the delighted grin. “Oh really?” 

She snorts out a laugh and chucks the deadheaded daisy at you. “God you’re annoying. We both need this to work, ok? Just— can you just go on some dates? Please? Make both our lives easier?”

The sun hits her hair just right as she drags a hand through it, and something in your chest gets uncomfortably tight.

You nod gently. “Sure, Eve.”

She looks at you skeptically. “Just give me something that I can tell my boss, please?”

You nod again and she lapses into silence. 

“Your hair looks really pretty in the sun.” 

The words come out without much thought and she reaches up self consciously to touch it, she looks at you the whole time trying to gauge your sincerity. The feeling in your chest pulls tight again and you shrug dismissively.

“It's just a compliment Eve. Don’t worry, I will go on a date. For you.” You turn away and look at the fields stretching out into the distance.

She pauses a bit, as if deciding whether or not to argue that you aren’t doing this for her, but seems to decide against it. 

“Thank you.” 

You turn back wanting to say— something, but she’s gone.

\-----------------------------------

You decide to stay in London after that weird moment with Eve in the field. You don’t like London, but you just want a moment to think, because although its one thing to pretend you’re fucking the hot child stealing witch, its quite another to— have feelings for her.

You’ve not had to worry too much about feelings, not since— Russia. You’ve taken a steady stream of people to bed since Bill got you out of the prison and you’ve not spared any of them a second thought once you closed the front door behind them the next morning.

But you’ve never even touched Eve and you can’t stop thinking about her.

God. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. This has fucking disaster written all over it. For one thing you don’t even know if she has romantic relationships. She’s bi, great, but is that limited to just looking— does she even have sex? Do child stealing witches have a vagina? You think back to the way she looked at you whilst you were fucking Pamela— yeah, no, she definately has a vagina. But then what?

Are you doing to fuck her and get it out of your system? That's never been the way that these things work for you. You can take someone home, fuck them and forget about them. But sex with feelings? That's much more tricky to forget, and god knows you’ve tried.

But maybe...maybe this doesn't have to be like that. Maybe this could actually be— something. She wants you to go on dates….well….why can’t you go on dates with her? You can’t tell her. Obviously. There's probably some witchy rule against it but what if it just-- happened? 

You could take her out for drinks, or a movie and just not call it a date. It would be a date. Obviously. But you wouldn't call it one, so she couldn't really be annoyed about it. Then over time she would just— you know, fall in love with you or however it works. That would be neat.

Although, does she live in a hovel? That really wouldn't work for you. And does she cook on a cauldron? Can you even cook pancakes on a cauldron, because even though you really do like Eve, do you like her enough to live a whole life without ever having pancakes again?

There’s a knock at the door, and you pull up from where you lay on the bed and open it to find Eve standing there.

“Oh. Hi, Eve.”

“Hi.” Not that subtly she cranes round you to look into the room. “Is this— er— is this a bad time.”

You smile slightly, “No. Did you— did you walk here?”, and open the door for her to follow you in.

“What? No, I got the tube, I'm 15 mins down the district line from here.” Huh. She doesn’t live in a hovel somewhere. Good to know.

“Listen, I’ve just been into the office and my boss was a dick and— and I need to show that we’re making progress here.”

“It’s been three hours?”

She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. “No, I know. It's just the last they knew you were dating that boy in Paris, and then today they find out he’s dead and you’re not even in the same country and—“

“—I knew I felt you!”

“What?”

“In Paris. By the river. I didn’t see you, but it's like when you do that woosh thing and appear suddenly it makes my skin— tingle.”

“It does?”

“God, Eve, I know more about being a child eating witch than you do.”

“What? I don’t eat children?!”

“So sit down here and have dinner with me.”

She hesitates and you feel a frisson of fear that maybe you haven’t read this right at all. Christ. You never feel like this. Being a normal person who has to deal with routine crises of confidence must be shit.

“Erm. Ok. Sure.”

You hold in the grin and turn to reach across the bed to get the room service menu, when you turn back her eyes are firmly fixed on where the robe has gaped at your thighs just above the knee.

You don't bother to hide your smile. This is totally going to work. You’ll have a hot new witch girlfriend in no time.

\-----------------------------------

  
  


You push a mouthful of spaghetti into your mouth before asking, “So what are you?”

“Soon to be magic-less if this is how you eat on a date”, she gestures to you with her fork, “I mean it's like watching hyena.”

You chew loudly for a second or two before shrugging a relaxed shoulder, “Maybe I have other skills to compensate”

“Oh god. Do you ever stop? It's like talking to a horny teenager.”

“Gross. I am far more refined.”

“You’ve got some spaghetti—.” She gestures vaguely toward you.

You pull it from the top of your robe and eat it, whilst looking right at her daring her to comment. She rolls her eyes and says nothing.

“So come on, what are you?”

“Like my star sign?”

You laugh, “I meant like are you human or are witches like aliens or something?”

“Oh, er, no i'm human. Just with magic. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

She puts down her fork. “I don’t have any real magic except what I, in theory, could trade for children. Well, I have a tiny little reserve for emergencies but I can’t do random magic for no reason. Like making people do what I tell them or torturing people who cut in front of you in a queue or something”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it kind of does.”

“Jobs always sound cooler when you don’t actually do them. International assassin sounds cool right? But also, there's a lot of waiting around and the dry cleaning costs can’t be written off as expenses.”

She looks at you a bit incredulous.

“What?”

“The downside to being paid to kill people for a living is the dry cleaning costs?”

“Says the woman who complains stealing children doesn’t give her enough magic to do the unforgivable Harry Potter curses.”

She flicks a napkin at you and you laugh. How you ever thought she was morally conflicted is beyond you, she’s so much more interesting than that. 

“Please tell me they at least pay for this boring black uniform?” You ask before biting into the garlic bread.

“What uniform?”

You blink at her. “They don’t make you wear--”, you gesture to the black turtleneck and black slacks outfit that she always seems to wear some version of, “whatever this is?”

Her back stiffens, “Oh please. Not all of us can swan around in silk dressing gowns and pink tulle dresses, some of us need to look—”

“—badly dressed?” You run your foot along hers to soften the words and she huffs a laugh. You smile back and file away that she’s been watching you much longer than you knew.

“God we’re in trouble if everything relies on you charming someone.”

“Please Eve, I am excellent at dates.”

She looks sceptical.

“You’re having a good time aren’t you?”

She blinks in surprise, and you don’t wait for her response. Instead you push her plate closer to her and say, “Eat your spaghetti. You worry too much, your magic is safe with me.”

\-----------------------------------

“Oh good, you’re here!” You shout from the bath, the familiar crackle alerting you to her presence.

There’s a knock to the bathroom door. “Are you—? Are you— decent?”

You laugh at that, “You’re kidding, right?”

“Just— just get dressed and come out. Ok?”

“Ok. Ok.” You climb out the bath, wrapping your wet hair in a towel and choose another silk robe from the back of the door. When you step into your bedroom you see her swallow and you turn away pretending to fuss with something on the vanity so that she can’t see just how pleased you are by her so obviously checking you out.

“Do you ever wear anything other than a bathrobe?” She asks grumpily.

“Would you prefer me to take it off?” You ask with utmost sincerity, your hands moving to the sash holding the front closed.

“No! No. No its fine.” 

You laugh. She is the cutest. Actually the cutest. 

“I'm glad you’re here, I’ve got to leave for work for a few days and I wanted to see you before I did.”

“Ok—” She says it skeptically.

“I have a gift for you.”

“Is it a positive pregnancy test?” She asks

“Yuk. No.”

“Oh. Ok—” 

You retrieve the bag from your wardrobe and hold it for her to take. She must recognise the name of the bag because suddenly looks hesitant.

“Um. Look this is really— nice— but you don't have to buy me gifts. I don’t even think it's ethical for me to accept a gift like this and—”

“—Eve, you literally want to take three of my children, just open the bag.”

She opens her mouth as if to respond, closes it then mutters under her breath, “I _personally_ don't want any of your--” She stops suddenly, “Is this a veil?” You roll your eyes, “Just look in the bag Eve.” You watch as she sets the veil on the side, and puts her hand back in the bag.

She stops again and you imagine it's when the hand rummaging feels the softness of lace beneath the intricate beading on the bodice. She looks up at you with that expression again, the one you don’t understand.

“It’s—”

You shrug a shoulder like it's nothing, then move to take the dress out before putting the bag back on the vanity gently, the perfume can be saved for later. You turn her so she’s facing your mirror, and stand behind her and together hold the dress up against her body. 

She stiffens slightly as she feels your arms around her as you hold the dress, one hand on her collar bone to hold the high tulle neck and another against her hip. You’re close enough to see a delicate shiver as she feels your breath against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. 

She pulls the long black sheer sleeves down against her arms, before running her hands up the delicate black beading on the bodice. As her hands approach her tits, your heart hammers in your chest, willing her to continue, she stops just below and you meet her eyes in the mirror. 

She opens her mouth to say something but you beat her to it. 

“You’re beautiful. And a big scary witch who eats children. You should have clothes that are almost as beautiful and scary as you are.”

“I don’t eat—” You turn your face ever so slightly into her hair to feel it on your face, just once, and she stops mid sentence. You could kiss her now, you think that she might even allow it. But there’s something that stops you, an unfamiliar flutter in your chest. So you step back and watch as she looks at herself in the mirror, you know that she’s seeing herself the way you see her and it takes every ounce of self restraint not to move closer again.

She looks up and meets your eyes. “Thank you, Vil.”

You smile, shug again in a gesture that you hope looks like nonchalance, even if your chest and throat burn with— something. It's all getting too much, this desire to act and the nervousness preventing you.

“Erm, Eve? I am sorry to rush you but I need to pack and leave soon so— could you—?”

“Oh, yeah, erm sure. I’ll just—” You watch and she folds the dress all wrong and do your best not to wince. She picks up the bag and turns to you before she disappears. “If anything— if anything happens with the job or whatever it is, just leave ok? Don’t be brave.”

You smile slightly. “See you soon.” And she’s gone.

\-----------------------------------

“Christ, where are we? It stinks of piss in here!”

“Yes, well, please address your complaints to the concierge at the front desk.” You tell her.

“Im serious Vil, where are we?” Her eyes haven’t adapted to the dark apparently, it takes about 30 minutes until the nothingness begins to have some sort of form. Or maybe it’s less than that, you never perfected judging time down here.

“The hole.”

“You’re in prison again?” She sounds panicked and it grates at your nerves a little.

“Relax. It's just for a job. I’ll be out and baby making before you know it.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure.”

She sighs but doesn’t contradict you and that stings a little.

“Where are you?”

You reach out to where her darkness looms in the rest of the room, and wrap your fingers around her arm, you feel the sheer material of the McQueen dress where it gathers at her wrists and you feel that twist in your chest again.

She allows herself to be drawn back to sit on the bunk next to you. “When are they coming for you?”

“Where do you go when you aren't with me?” You ask, changing the subject.

“Oh, erm. My flat? Or the office?”

“The office of eating children, of course.” 

“ Jesus, for the last time I don't eat children, I told you, I—”

“No? God, what do you do with them then?”

“Nothing weird!”

“Umm, you literally steal children? Whatever you do with them is going to be weird.”

“Yeah, well. You’re an assassin so I don't think you get to win any morality awards here.”

You laugh and realise it's the first time since the last time you saw her, and god is that how you measure time now. Times where you see Eve and the gaps in between.

“Do you even like kids?” You ask

“No. Do you?”

“I don't know. I didn't when I was a kid.”

“How long until someone comes for you, Vil?” She asks it again, more softly this time and you almost let yourself believe that she cares for the right reasons.

You exhale slowly, the truth is you don’t know if someone is going to come. You lean into her side and carefully move until you can rest your head against her shoulder. You let out a breath you didnt realise that you’d been holding and when you breathe in again it's there; the perfume. 

You turn your face toward her, “You’re wearing it”

She doesn’t respond to that but moves her hand until it is lightly resting on your leg, and it feels-- good, it feels like relief to finally have her touch you.

“I could— you know— fix it, if you wanted.”

It had crossed your mind, of course it had, and if it was Bill you wouldn’t have hesitated. 

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” You say it firmly. God knows how you are going to get out of this prison without magic, but you don’t want to do it using hers. Not in exchange for a promise you have no intention of fulfilling.

But the air vibrates around you, different to how it was with Bill but before anything else happens you know what she’s done. 

There are footsteps in the hallway. The light flickers on and blinds you. Once you’ve forced your eyes open, you see her staring at you with the same look as always, the one you can't read.

The cell door opens and she is gone.

  
  


\-----------------------------------

Konstantin’s wife is big for a reason. These cheese filled pirozhkis are unbelievable. 

So when Eve appears a few hours after she freed you from the cell you hold out the plate to offer her one. She shakes her head quickly. You’re surprised she looks so harried, she must have spent the last few hours raking through her hair with her fingers. She’s still wearing the black mourning dress and honestly it's better than you imagined. The long black skirt floats around her feet and the sheer tulle on her chest that runs up to a high collar beneath her jaw teases but gives nothing away.

“Are you ok? What happened? What are you— what are you wearing?”

“Hi, Eve. Here try one—” You hold out the plate again and this time she takes one.

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You speak around a full mouth, “Prison break, motorbike escape, killed the douchey new handler they tried to give me, nothing much.”

“But you’re ok?”

“Were you worried?” 

She pauses, blinks. “Yes.”

You smile lightly. “Eat the pastry.”

She does, “Oh my god, this is incredible!”

“I know, right?”

You lift yourself up to sit on the edge of the counter next to her. “You shouldn’t have done that, you know?”

She looks up at you, mouth full and doesn't respond.

“I don’t want to make those kinds of deals with you.”

You watch as she finishes her mouthful and looks at you appraisingly. “You didn’t.”

You frown in confusion.

“That was— I used my magic. You don't owe me anything.” 

You look down and see her hand resting close to yours and have no control at all when you reach out to touch her, lightly squeezing her fingers. She’s looking at you, and you watch as her eyes drop to your mouth. Again you know that you could kiss her, but unlike in your bedroom in Paris you don't feel the nerves, your heart thuds in your chest at the thought of it. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, her bottom lip catches the light when she releases it and you hear the door open and Konstantin’s stupid booming voice.

Another time then.

“You should go.”

“Why?” She asks, her hand still holding yours.

“Our party’s getting crashed, go, Eve.”

“Irena?” Konstantin’s voice booms out and by the time he enters the kitchen your fingers are wrapped around the gun and Eve is gone.

\-----------------------------------

The chair dips under your weight in the way that it used to and you remember how your back would ache if you sat here for too long. You complained about it every time and she would tut at you in that indulgent way she had, knowing that it didn't matter how you complained you’d sit there next time regardless.

Looking back now it was artless how plain you made your jealousy. You sat in his chair and complained it was uncomfortable, then fucked his wife against every hard surface in his apartment, it never mattered though he always had her in a way you never did, nothing you did could change that.

You lean down to touch her hair for what will be the last time. It's just as soft and thick as you remember, despite the stickiness of the blood. 

When you look up she's standing on the other side of the body looking at you questioningly. 

She’s changed out of the dress, a pity really. “Who was she?” Eve asks.

“Are you hungry?” You change the subject and quickly put the passport and money into your coat pocket. She nods and you step round where Anna’s body lays on the ground. “Come on, I’ll buy you a burger.” 

Eve looks at you, and you can tell that she knows something, that she has divined something from the scene around you that you aren't sure you wanted her to know. But she seems to be able to read you well enough that she resists her clear desire to ask. Instead she walks out of the apartment and you follow her turning back once to look at Anna for the last time. It's true, you don’t love her anymore so you’re surprised to find this still hurts. 

“Vil?” Eve calls from the hallway and you turn and follow, closing the door behind you.

\-----------------------------------

“Have you ever been in love?” You ask her, wiping your greasy burger hands on the napkin.

“I was married for the best part of ten years.”

“So, no then?”

She knocks into your shoulder playfully. “Did you love her?” She asks quietly, unsure perhaps of your reaction.

Of course she saw it, you knew she had. Weirdly you think that maybe it's kind of nice to have someone looking hard enough to see the things that you try to hide.

“As best as I could back then, yes, I think so.”

“Did you kill her?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Have you ever killed anyone you loved?” You ask.

She shakes her head. “I thought about killing my husband.”

“He was an asshole?”

She smiles lightly. “No. He was nice. He just didn’t see that I’m... not.”

“That would have been a good way to show him.”

“Yeah I thought so” She laughs, it’s a light airy sound.

“Did you want him to? To see you, I mean.”

“Sometimes. What about the woman in the apartment, did she know what you are?”

You nod, then shrug. “At the end.” 

“Did she like it?”

“No.”

She nods in understanding, then turns to look straight at you, “Tell me what it feels like?”

“To kill someone?”

She nods, and you can feel the weight of her interest. You hesitate, it's not a side of yourself that you’ve shared with anyone before. Not really. The psychiatrists that Konstantin has paraded you in front of seem to want a caricature of bloodlust, and that's what you give them. Konstantin wants detached professionalism, you don't give him that but you also don’t give him the truth. But looking at her face, you know that's what she is asking for, worse still it's what you want to give her.

“Sometimes good, sometimes boring. It's the same as anything really.” She nods in response, but she's holding something back. “Did you expect a different answer?”

“Kind of?” She sort of laughs, “I thought it might feel like something more than casual disinterest.”

“Sorry to disappoint. You want to try it though, right?” 

“Do you think I could do it?”

“Sure. Drop in on me at the right time and I’ll let you have one of mine. Call it a gift”

She laughs in response. “That’s your version of a gift?”

“It's my version of a gift for you.”

She stares at you for a moment, only turning away when you turn to meet her gaze. She looks a bit thrown. But she can’t possibly be surprised that as much as she’s able to see you, to see all of you, you are able to see her just as clearly. 

“I should go.” She says abruptly. Maybe she finds the thought less comforting than you do.

“Ok.” 

“Just because i’m busy with work and— you know.” She doesn’t stand up.

“It's ok, Eve. I will see—” The rest of the sentence is lost in the quick and urgent press of her mouth to yours. She presses closer to you still, and she puts a hand against your jaw to keep you there, silly really, it's been so long since you wanted to be anywhere else.

It feels different to how you’d imagined. You pictured the satisfaction of a victory, you wanted this woman and now you have her. You thought it would be the same satisfaction as finally getting a new bag after suffering the indignity of being waitlisted. But it feels nothing like that at all. 

Each gentle rub of her thumb against your face, each press of her mouth feels calmer, and more soothing than the intensity of a quick win. All the urgency and hunger you felt for her from the beginning is momentarily quelled by this simple and, all things considered, relatively chased kiss.

She pulls back abruptly and puts her hand to her mouth. She looks petrified, and you somehow find it cute.

“Fuck.”

You laugh lightly and lean back on the bench. “I mean we could,” you make a show of running your hand along the wood beneath you, “it would be hell on your knees though.”

She doesn’t respond, instead leans forward and buries her head in her hands. “Oh, fuck.”

You put your hand on her back and rub soothing circles, feeling the curve of her spine, the strap of her bra, and imagining so much more.

She turns her head to glare at you, “Why are you so calm about this?”

“It was a kiss Eve, it's ok.”

She buries her head in the hands again. “You know what I mean.”

You do.

“You’re going to die and I’m going to lose everything.”

You’ve been expecting to die for a long time, the prospect of it doesn’t really bother you so much anymore, and really would it be so bad to die because you loved her? Is that what this is? What you’ve called love before didn’t feel like this. Before it felt urgent and fleeting, this feels more solid. It feels like something real and tangible and unfamiliar— God— It feels like something good. 

So. You’re going to die for love then, that sounds kind of ok. But her losing her magic, that is unacceptable. 

“It’s ok. I can— you know, feel this and still make you a tonne of babies. You can keep your magic; I promised you it would be safe with me.”

She turns to glare again, you’ve always liked how she looked when she’s irritated with you.

“That's not what I meant.” She sighs. “This isn't about the magic.”

You raise your eyebrows, not quite believing her.

“Fine. Ok. It’s a little about the magic. But it's also— it's also— oh, God I can’t believe I’m saying this— I think about you all the time and— oh no, don’t look so pleased with yourself, that wasn’t a compliment. It’s not a good thing.”

How could it not be? You pull your bottom lip into your mouth to quell what must be a dopey love struck smile in the hope that she’ll say more.

“I’m good at this job. I’m good at doing the research, finding the pressure points, getting a result. And ok, you’re my first actual face to face management of a debtor but—“

“—I’m your first?” You knew it, of course but you can’t resist affecting a voice of innocent surprise.

“Oh shut up. You knew that.”

It makes you laugh, and you raise your eyebrows in acknowledgment. “Maybe.”

The sighs then groans, “But now I’m meant to encourage you to fuck other people and it makes me so mad I could—“, she breaks off and doesn’t finish the thought. 

There’s the normal urge to tease, to lord this jealous admission over her. To remind her that it didn’t look like she minded so much when she watched you fuck Pamela. But there’s this other thing too, this part of you that wants to reassure, to be soft, and gracious and loving. Gross. But it’s there and the impulse is so much stronger than the one to tease.

“I think about you too.” 

You pull her hand into your lap and interlace your fingers with hers.

“Fuck.” She says again.

You raise your hand holding hers and press a kiss to the back of hers. “It's ok. I told you, I’ll have a load of kids, you can eat them then maybe after we can go dancing.”

“Dancings not really my thing.” She sounds so sad, and it makes your throat tight. You don’t like her sadness, you like her burning with anger, yes, but not this. You draw her closer, teasing lightly; “Dancing is the only objection you have to that sentence? I knew you were eating them!!”

It does the trick and she laughs a little so you kiss her hand again.

“It's ok, Eve. I can do this. It's not a big deal. I’ll get one of those designer pregnancies and have triplets. You can do— whatever it is you do with them, and in a year this will all be done and we can— you know— date. Or whatever.” You hate how tinged with insecurity your voice becomes, simply because you know how far this has grown from just wanting to date her. 

Christ how naive you had been thinking you could just make her fall in love with you whilst you remained unaffected. 

She laughs to pull you from your thoughts, or something like it which turns into a sigh and you feel her head rest on your shoulder just like you had let yours rest on her in the prison.

“Fuck.” She says again before lifting her head. “I can’t do this.”

Your stomach twists and throat closes, and she must turn and see your face fall, because her hand is on your jaw in the way that it was when you were kissing. “No. No, not like that. I just— I’ve got to go. Erm— I just need to sort some stuff out. I’ll be back. Just— I’ve got to go”

“No, Eve, wait, let me—” You don't get to finish the sentence before she’s gone.

\-----------------------------------

The next time you see her, you don’t feel the crackle. She’s already in your hotel suite when you come back from the pool. She stands next to a tall elegant woman dressed in a long sharply cut wool coat. It’s 30 degrees outside. Weird.

“Hi Eve.” 

“Erm, yeah, Hi.” She responds awkwardly, glancing at the woman next to her.

After another moment of silence the woman exhales impatiently through her nose. “Oksana, isn’t it?”

“Villanelle.”

“Of course.” She gives a tight lipped smile. “Would you like to take a seat?”

You look at Eve who seems to be trying to communicate with you via a series of angry yet imploring expressions. 

“What, Eve?” You ask her. “You’re doing a weird thing with your face?”

“What?” She laughs, high and false, “No I’m not? Just— just come and sit down.” She looks furious even as her voice tries to sound polite and the good chest squeeze feeling is back. So you perch on the end of the bed in the fluffy white hotel bathrobe and your wet hair in a towel.

“Right.” The woman begins. “My name is Carolyn. Eve works for me, and I understand that we have a problem here.”

You look back to Eve who is doing that strange cycle of expressions again.

“Do we?”

Eve rolls her eyes, “I’ve explained to Carolyn that you are refusing to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Ok?” You ask, not following at all. Surely the plan is to pretend you are going along with it?

“Well you’ve left me in a bind here” The tall woman interupts, “because if I let this debt lapse then Eve loses her magic and despite this little— blip— Eve is actually relatively competent, and it would be a shame for the service to lose her. And so soon after Bill of course.”

You nod sympathetically, not entirely sure what is happening here. “Running a child stealing ring can be tough, sure.”

Carolyn turns to Eve with a bemused expression, “What exactly have you told her that we do?”

“Nothing!! Not that!” She turns to Villanelle, flushed and anxious, “Look. If you don’t agree to have three children then my magic will be gone and I’m useless to Carolyn, so are you absolutely sure that there is no way that you’re going to fulfil this bargain?”

Ah. Right!! Good plan, Eve! Might have been a little smoother if she had told you first but you can work with this.

You nod sadly at Carolyn, “It is true. I do not like sex.”

Carolyn arches an eyebrow, “That wasn’t the impression I got from Bill’s case notes, or indeed from Eve’s”

You raise an eyebrow at Eve and murmur, “You’ve been watching me for a long time, hmm?” You bite your bottom lip and smirk at the way she flushes in response.

The moment ends when Carolyn clears her throat. “Yes. Well. Quite. Eve is— very thorough.”

“I bet.” You look up at Eve coquettishly, and enjoy how she simmers with annoyance.

Carolyn clears her throat again, and is looking at you expectantly when you meet her gaze. “Anyway, yes, I am sorry to say that I’ve— changed my mind? So I don’t plan to have sex again. Ever. With anyone. Not even myself.” You try to remember if you’d tucked away the vibrator you’d been using that morning.

“I see. Well. I can’t leave this outstanding debt on the books indefinitely. So what I propose to do is move the debt for Eve to hold privately. Eve will then be able to continue to work, pay back that magic over time, and you can continue to—“ she pauses to eve the stack of clothes bags on the other side of the room, “— shop.”

You frown at that. You do a lot of things beyond shopping. Maybe not in the last few days but you were hiding from your previous employers who are probably actively trying to kill you right now and moping over the possibility that Eve might not come back. So a bit of shopping seemed like light relief. It's hardly the worst thing you’ve done when bored or contemplating upcoming heartbreak. This head witch really ought to praise you for your self restraint.

“Does that sound acceptable?” 

“So Eve can keep her magic and I have to give her three babies instead of you?”

“I was talking to Eve. But, yes. That’s the proposal.”

“Yes. That’s fine Carolyn.”

“Excellent. Well—“

“—Do I get any say in this?” You ask, a little put out, and Eve glares at you. 

“No.” Carolyn says baldly. “Eve has bought your debt and that’s it. Unless you’d like to persuade me that you should die and Eve lose her magic?”

“Well—“ You start.

“—she doesn’t.” Eve speaks over you.

“I can speak for myself. God Eve, so unprofessional.”

Eve titters nervously and glances at Carolyn who raises an eyebrow waiting for you to speak.

You pause a beat and let Eve worry for a little longer than is necessary. Fair’s fair. You’ve been waiting forever for her after all. “Sure. It's ok with me.”

“Well then. We’re all done here.” She turns and glances out the window. “Barcelona?” She asks, and you nod in response. “I honeymooned here once. Didn’t see much of the city. But if you two do venture out of the hotel, Castillo de Montjuic is rather beautiful at sunset.”

Eve looks as though she is ready to sink into the floor so you fill the silence and smile brightly, “Huh, thanks. Good to know.”

She smiles tightly at Eve and disappears. There’s no crackle at all. Weird.

“Oh my god.” Eve groans and sits down on the bed next to you, before flopping down onto her back. You turn slightly to look at her to find she has closed her eyes.

“So— that went well?” You say awkwardly. What do you say to the person who just voluntarily tethered your future to theirs? This is all backwards, you haven’t even told her you love her.

“Do you think Carolyn knows?” She asks tentatively.

She definitely does. “No. No, we were very convincing.”

“Jesus.”

You lay back next to her, turning your head to watch her profile carefully. “I guess that means I’m yours now.” Your voice sounds strange even to your own ears, but the words are out and you tense, bracing for her reaction, waiting for the moment when she realises the enormity of her mistake.

She huffs a laugh, but stays largely still. “Guess so.”

“What happens now?” You ask.

“I go back to work, and you are free to do— whatever you want I guess.” Then she turns on her side and you turn on to yours to mirror her, you reach out to stroke her face. She looks hesitant, and won’t properly meet your eyes; it occurs to you then that maybe she doesn’t know what you want. A ridiculous woman really, how could you want anything else once you’d seen her?

“Will you stay for a bit?” You ask softly.

Her mouth quirks into a sort of smile and you feel her palpable relief as her eyes meet yours, “Sure.”

  
\-----------------------------------  
  
  


\-----------------------------------

You’ve never liked kids. That was always true. 

You just aren’t that sort of person, witch, whatever, you aren’t one for labels. On balance this was a weird career choice, if it can be called that. But you just— didn’t like them. They’re noisy and dirty and clingy and— and noisy, the noise really can’t be underplayed. That wasn’t what you liked about the job, still isn't, in fact.

Ok, so maybe, you have softened your position on it over the last few years but right now you are back to where you were the first time you set your eyes on a ridiculously beautiful woman in a pink tulle princess gown in the middle of Paris; ambivalent toward children and mildly irritated by just the concept of her.

Ok. That's a shitty thought. 

But you’ve been awake at 3am for countless nights in a row now and so what if you’re feeling hard done by. You never lied to Villanelle about what you were, she saw it all and wanted you anyway. So if you have to lay here squeezed on this tiny slither of mattress, then you are going to do it whilst kind of pissed off with the perfect little family that you would gladly die for.

You’re tired in your bones, in your skin, in your— whatever other part of your body that shouldn't be able to feel tired, that's where you feel it, and god you haven't felt like this since— Jesus, you don't even know when.

Or maybe that's not right. Maybe those first few months with Michael were worse, when he suffered with silent reflux and Villanelle with cracked nipples. God, yeah, that was worse than this. Villanelle exhausted and in pain from feeding, Michael screaming because of the reflux, and you were powerless to help either of them. That was shit.

Or was it before Antonia dropped her second nap? She wouldn’t sleep at night without either you or Vil spending hours with a hand pressed to her chest. All the while Michael outside in the hallway wanting whoever’s turn it was with Anotonia. Christ that was hard. 

But this is its own fresh level of hell. Now it's that Michael has nightmares and wont sleep in his room, and Antonia is jealous and won’t sleep in her room if she knows that Michael is in with you. This is two adults and two children in a king size bed.

Every. Night. 

It is horrific.

You didn’t expect any of this. 

Even when you bargained with Carolyn to keep Villanelle from having to produce and offer up three kids, you didn't seriously expect to collect on that debt yourself. Or if you did, you thought there could be one. Maybe. Jesus, were you thinking about all this that early on? Christ, you weren’t even dating at that point. Not really. Well. Not conventionally at least, although there had been food, and body dismemberment, and voyeurism…. 

But they don’t count as dates right? Fuck knows. Maybe for the two of you it does.

But you’d been so sickeningly happy together and one day you just suggested it, then a little over a year later Villanelle was sweaty and gross and wearing a horrible hospital gown with a tiny little creature in her arms. And just like everything with her— getting what you wanted only made you want more. 

So you tested the water, teased her that you’d bought three and she needed to pay up, she was thrilled, kept talking about how cool it would be to be able to field an entire hockey team made up of just your kids. Although thankfully talk like that has admittedly dropped off over the last few months.

But you asked for this and here you are, with everything you wanted. Plus an errant foot in the neck every now and again. You lift your head off the pillow to see Villanelle on the opposite side of the bed, balanced much as you are on the edge, Antonia’s arm hooked round her neck and a mess of brown and blonde hair tangling on the pillow. 

It makes your heart ache. 

You can be pissed off and in love with them all at the same time, right? Thats a legitimate and recognised emotion, isn’t it? But then you’ve never felt straightforwardly about anything that mattered, so why start now? She hasn't changed you like that, she doesn't make you a better person or whatever shit you used to expect from love. What she does, what they all do, is accept that you aren’t that great of a person, and love you anyway, love you because of it even.

A little head burrows into the side of yours and a sharp elbow connects with the bridge of your nose. Pissed off and desperately in love. That pretty much sums up how you felt about her from much earlier on than she probably knows, so it makes sense that you should feel the same about these mini versions of her that lay between you.

Maybe being so tired you feel sick isn't actually so bad.

You close your eyes and snuggle back into the covers, breathing out slowly and at last feel the delicious slide into sleep. 

That is until the shrill cry from the monitor on the bedside table makes your heart hammer in your chest before the sinking feeling that comes with the thought-- oh Christ, she's not due for a feed for another two hours! 

Fuck. 

Hopefully, Vil will tiptoe out of the room without disturbing the others, you are already painfully aware that everyone being wide awake at 3am is a fate worse than a fate worse than death.

The crying continues and Villanelle doesn't shift.

You reach over the not so tiny sleeping humans between you to prod at her shoulder. 

No response.

She’s awake, you know she is. What an asshole.

“Vil!” You whisper.

Nothing.

“Vil!!” You whisper louder.

Nothing.

You prod her hard on the arm and this time she blinks her eyes open, she glances at the monitor then back at you. She looks awful and you’re reminded that these last few weeks have been rough on her too. Tired marks under her eyes, and her skin looks less than perfect for once.

“It's your turn” You remind her regardless. What? It is! If she looks tired at 32, you dread to think what you look like at an undisclosed age north of 40.

She turns as best she can without falling out of the bed to look at the time and then turns back to you with a face of mock sympathy and you can already hear the words before they come out of her mouth. The same ones as always at this time in the morning. 

Jesus, can you take back when you said you were desperately in love with her?

“Sorry Eve, I love you, I do, but between the hours of 1 and 5 am, you bought it, you handle it”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my target audience of two who have had to listen to a more intense level of complaining about this fic than usual and that is really saying something. 
> 
> Also - kids names are shout outs to my two fav Villaneve kids - Lost on you's Antonia, and Infancy's Michael. If you didn't read either of those may I politely request that you abandon all other things and get on with it.
> 
> Squalling child in the nursery is unnamed. Apologies.
> 
> For those interested, normal train fic service to be resumed as of monday. Insofar as I am able to draft a chapter anyway.
> 
> As for this... hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
